52

Jesse stood up, anticipating a handshake but prepared for a punch in the face, just in case. Hart’s gaze betrayed similar wariness as he drew nearer, but he was amused, too.

They shook hands.

“This has got to be the most pretentious place I’ve ever seen,” Jesse said. “Right up your alley.”

Hart smiled wryly and took a seat. “I was delighted to get your text. I’ve been trying to decide if you were just missing my company, or finally ready to make a move on my sister.”

Jesse had prepared mentally for this encounter, and the shock value fell flat. Hart was savvy, but a lot of it was smoke and mirrors. “Both,” he said.

“So why do you need my help?” Hart asked impatiently. Probably disappointed that Jesse hadn’t turned red or burst into tears. “Knowing Clara, all you have to do is sit back and relax.”

That got his attention. “What do you mean?”

“You don’t know,” Hart realized, the gleam of satisfaction returning to his eye. “I thought you must be onto her, but you still don’t have a clue.”

“About what?” Jesse asked, with great self-control.

Hart had signaled to a waitress, who came now to take their orders. “Get whatever you want,” he said to Jesse.

The remark was calculated to annoy, and it worked. “Club sandwich,” he said, without looking at the menu, and out of habit checked his watch. He had a full hour before he had to get to work.

“And to drink?” she asked pleasantly.

“Tap water.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Great choice.”

Hart took his time and flirted while he ordered, and Jesse’s impatience grew. Finally, the woman left, and he leaned back in his seat, saying, “All right, tell me what I don’t have a clue about.”

“That would take too long.”

“Hart, I swear—”

“All right,” the little wonderboy relented. “Let’s see—how long has it been since you first moved in with us?”

“Sixteen years.”

“Well, then Clara’s been madly in love with you for sixteen years.”

More nonsense calculated to throw him for a loop. “No, she hasn’t.”

“Yeah,” Hart said with a dry laugh. “She has.”

“Then this is the first I’m hearing about it,” Jesse said doubtfully.

“That’s because you have a Clara-shaped blind spot. You probably developed it as a defense mechanism because she was so freakin’ annoying. But ever since she was a kid she’s been telling anyone who will listen that she’s going to marry you.”

He told himself that Hart was just jerking his chain, but he was starting to buy it anyway. “She has, really?”

“Yeah. Didn’t make any secret of it. Sure, she shut up about it when you went dark, but then she went and double-majored in Spanish, so I’m guessing she still had you on a back burner.”

“I didn’t know she did that,” he said, feeling numb.

“Fashion and Jesse Flores. That’s my sister in a nutshell.”

“Huh,” Jesse said cleverly.

“Why do you think she’s just been hanging around at home the past year, not knowing what to do with her life? Same reason her dating life in New York was such a nightmare to witness: her little brain’s in limbo because the only plan she ever had didn’t come to fruition.”

“Limbo?” Jesse echoed.

“Limbo. If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think she realized it. But if you showed up on her doorstep tomorrow and asked her to marry you, she wouldn’t hesitate. And no one who knows her would bat an eyelash.”

“Your parents—”

“Wouldn’t bat an eyelash,” Hart repeated heavily.

“Really?” Jesse asked, startled.

“Yeah, dude.” Hart was projecting sympathy now—no, it was pity.

Jesse knew he had lost control of the encounter. He had let Hart get inside his head, just as he had been determined not to do, but there was nothing he could do about it now. “Huh,” was all he could manage, yet again.

“Why do you think my mom guilt-tripped you into coming home? Do you really think she needed your help at work?”

Jesse had a sinking feeling. Was Dr. Wilder only interested in reconnecting with him for Clara’s sake? “I thought she wanted me to buy her out,” he admitted.

“Did she?”

“No,” he said slowly. “She said she’s not ready to retire.”

“There you go.” Hart looked up and thanked the waitress for his whiskey soda.

Jesse didn’t even glance at his water. He didn’t want to think about Dr. Wilder in the role of matchmaker right now. But of course it was true—why else would she bother bringing him back?

One crisis at a time, he told himself.

It would be unforgivably stupid to assume that Clara was in love with him just because she’d had a crush when she was younger, or to read anything into the Spanish double-major, which in a state like Texas was probably nothing more than a good business move.

Still, though… There was no longer any question in his mind about one thing—he was hightailing it for Romeo the first chance he got to assess the situation.

“Clara hasn’t said anything lately, has she? About me?”

“Not to me,” Hart said, adding ruefully, “and I talk to her at least once a day about flipping houses.”

“Flipping houses? Clara?”

Hart shrugged. What can you do?

“Never mind. Do you—”

“Do I have any advice for dealing with the Colonel? There’s only one way to deal with the Colonel. Answer fast; don’t make him wait. Stick to the truth and keep it simple.”

“Don’t you—”

“Don’t I think he’ll bust your kneecaps and bar you from the premises? No, he won’t do that. If there’s one thing we can be sure of, he wants his princess to have anything she wants.”

That was logical, and logic was comforting. Did his foster parents only value him as a match for their daughter? If so, that was a lot better than nothing—and he should know. He was very familiar with nothing.

“There’s another side to that coin,” Hart warned. “If you start something with Clara and you don’t finish it, or if you marry her and then make her unhappy in any way, you’re dead. And the old man will stand up at your funeral crying crocodile tears and tell everyone what a great guy you were.”

“The Colonel? I have it on good authority that he’s a total softie.”

Hart grinned. “Good luck, man.”

The waitress delivered their lunch then, and then she hung around for a few minutes making flirtatious small talk with Hart. Jesse was almost done wolfing down his sandwich by the time she walked away.

“Is Clara flipping the cabin?” he asked curiously.

“Not technically. She’s renovating it before Memo puts it back on the market. Expects to make a huge profit.” Hart smiled angelically. “I think she’s probably right.”

“Margo, you’re not going to be happy with me.”

He was about to head up Grisham’s office, and he felt bad that he was going to be letting her down.

Margo did not look up from the stack of paperwork she was glancing through. “I will be disappointed,” she said, “if you don’t go with your gut instinct. You have better instincts than any doctor I’ve ever known.”

He was going with his gut instinct, and he felt good about it—mostly. “I’m choosing Clara.”

“Thought you might,” she breezed. “Are you quitting?”

“Yes.”

“You’re going to miss this place,” she warned.

“I know.”

Finally, she looked up. “That girl did a number on you.”

“Yeah, she did.”

“Good,” she said roundly. “I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you this before, but you deserve to be happy.”

His mouth opened and closed.

She rolled her eyes. “Well, go on up there and give Grisham the shock of his life.”

He hesitated. “You know, if you ever felt like taking a pay cut and moving to a dead-end border town to work in a building that wouldn’t look out of place on Disneyland’s Main Street—”

“I’ll think about it,” she said airily.

He was still reeling from that answer when he got out of the elevator on the administrative floor. She’d actually think about it?

“Is Dr. Grisham available?” he asked the secretary.

“He’s expecting you, Dr. Flores. Go right in.”

He forgot to thank her until he’d already gone through the doors, and by then it was too late.

“Jesse. What’s the word?” Grisham asked directly.

“I’m turning you down,” Jesse said. “And giving my two weeks’ notice. I love working here, but I have to go see about a girl.”

Grisham leaned back in his chair and regarded him with fascination. “Where?” he asked finally.

“Little nothing town called Romeo in the Trans-Pecos.”

“Way out west? You’re not planning to stay there forever, are you?”

“As long as she’ll let me.”

Grisham considered for a long moment. Then he said, “How far away is that, by air?”

“Hour and ten.”

“Maybe…we could work something out.”

“I’m listening,” Jesse said instantly.

If ads affect your reading experience, click here to remove ads on this page.